A tall, muscular dude around my own age snickered several chairs over. Blaze shot him an angry look. The Devil froze, pivoting his lip ring on his mouth.
“Shut the fuck up, Roller. I'm not gonna disrespect this asshole's colors as long as he doesn't shit on ours.” Blaze looked at Tank next to him, and then at me. “Now, Brass, you gonna tell us why the fuck Blackjack sent you racing up to our territory?”
I told them everything. How the fucked up war with the cartel weakened the whole club, fanning tensions that were simmering for years. Told them how they'd tried to kill me, how I shredded that psycho's face who'd tried to kill my girl, how Blackjack believed the club could turn itself around if it just burned away the cancer at the top.
When I was finished, Blaze leaned back in his chair, his jaw clenched thoughtfully. He turned to Tank.
“What do you think?”
“It's a real sad story, boss,” Tank said. Not something I ever expected to hear from the giant. “But having this boy here's a real load of bullshit.”
There. That's more like the Prairie Pussy badass wannabe I know. I looked at Goliath and grinned.
Blaze folded his hands and leaned forward, all his attention on me again. “I'm inclined to agree. Look, Brass, we appreciate you giving us a head's up about this shit. Mostly so we can stay the fuck out of it. What were you hoping to do with this little knock and talk?”
Fuck. Typical selfish Prairie Pussy bastard. I balled fists underneath the table, trying not to let the anger in my eyes flood everything.
“Blackjack and I are trying to save both our asses. Can't you fucking see that? I know this club's been through the grinder ever since you started this charter, Blaze. The last thing you wanna do is strap on your knee highs and go wading through our cesspool.”
“Damned straight,” Blaze said with a smile.
“And you're a fucking idiot if you let the past blind you to what's coming.”
Blaze's smile melted. Tank rose, slow and angry, ready to choke the life outta me for insulting his Prez in their own clubhouse.
“Wait, wait,” Blaze said, putting up his arm over Tank. “Let's give him one chance to qualify that before we shut his ass up for saying such stupid shit.”
“This shit will spill over into your club, Blaze. What I didn't get a chance to tell you is Fang thought I was a rat for the Devils. Not the cartel.”
“Fuck!” Tank growled, settling back into his chair.
“I know. We had a major shipment fucked up in Washington last week. He doesn't believe the Mexicans would slip so far north and hit us past Redding. Didn't take him long to draw a target on the Devils, thinking you'd double-crossed us while we've been busy.”
“Bastard!” Blaze's fists hit the table. “If that dumb motherfucker wants a war on his northern flank, we'll give him one. We'll ride through Sacramento with his fucking head on our bikes before the Mexicans can get to it.”
The Devils Prez was shaking. Hot headed as usual, but for once, I didn't blame him for having such a short fuse.
“Dunno, boss,” Tank said, eyeing me warily. “There's only eight of us, maybe double if we put in a call for reinforcements from the Dakota boys. That's enough to take Redding with Brass and his splinter group, but it's not shit if we gotta battle dudes from every other Grizzlies charter too.”
Blaze shook his head. “I hate to say it, but you're fucking right. Having this club on your side isn't gonna mop up every charter from Coeur d'Alene to San Diego. Besides, it sounds like the cartel's got your man on the ropes. Maybe we'd be better off here, beefing up our defenses, waiting for your evil empire to fall.”
I laughed. He really didn't see the full picture, and it was like talking to the goddamned wall trying to pry his eyes open.
Don't give up. This is the end of the line, boy. One more try, or settling down with Missy's gonna be the least of your worries.
I couldn't ignore the persistent voice in the back of my mind. I tried to stay calm as I looked at Blaze and stood, hands on the table, not even looking past him when Tank got up and began sizing me up.
“You're totally fucking wrong, Blaze. I wouldn't come here asking you for favors without holding an ace.” This time, I looked at Tank, the fiercest skeptic in the room. “He botched a hit a couple weeks ago. Some druggy with an old personal vendetta. When the fucker wouldn't pay up, he sent his boys after the guy. Ended up with a dagger in his back.”
“Who the fuck cares?” Tank growled. “Give us something we can chew on or shut the fuck up, bear.”
I grinned. “Fang doesn't take trophies like Devils do. He likes to see it all go down on video. Some guys recorded the crime scene. Even got some junkie bitch holed up in the room to squawk about what happened on film. Go ahead and fucking guess who's brought the tape to Big Sky country.”